


Perfect Memory

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Pre-White House (West Wing), Romance, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-12
Updated: 2005-04-12
Packaged: 2019-05-15 21:12:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14798057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Napa, David Copperfield and the spirit of a misplaced childhood.





	Perfect Memory

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Perfect Memory**

**by: Francesca**

**Pairing(s):** CJ/Sam  
**Category(s):** Romance/Song Fic  
**Rating:** CHILD  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters (I wish) but am just borrowing them for a while, I will put them back – honest, no copyright infringement is intended. I’m just taking Sam Seaborn’s advice #grins# "Good writers borrow from other writers. Great writers steal from them outright." I'm not borrowing or stealing, just sneaking some use while no one's looking.  
**Summary:** Napa, David Copperfield and the spirit of a misplaced childhood.  
**Spoiler:** _The Stackhouse Filibuster_  
**Author's Note:** This is what happens when the morning after you first watch ‘The Stackhouse Filibuster’ you travel into work playing ‘music by W.G ‘Snuffy’ Walden’. The title is from a song called ‘Perfect Memory’ by Remy Zero. 

“And I'll remember you  
And the things that we used to do  
And the things that we used to say  
I'll remember you   
Always”  
‘Perfect Memory’ by Remy Zero. 

The Hamptons, Saturday. 

He’d taken the Amtrak to Penn Station and rented a car, he’d driven all night to get here after C.J finally released ‘her spin boys’ from the West Wing, and he wasn’t doing what he’d planned this weekend, not at all. 

He wasn’t sailing or walking around Sag Harbour, he wasn’t jogging along or for that matter walking along the beaches. No in Sam Seaborn’s hard won vacation time which he has travelled all night to reach he is in the attic of his house looking for a box his mother swears blind she shipped to him maybe five or six years ago that he never got around to opening. 

He’s already called to his mother in California twice since he started this search and she muttered about sons and time zones but he explained and she seemed to understand. He drags his hand through his hair and thinks that if he calls her a third time she may not be as understanding about it though. 

He reaches for a packing case that looks promising and wishes his mother had labelled them when she’d packed; he’s half way through the contents when he hits pay dirt, in the shape of a box full of photographs and envelopes. 

He takes the box, downstairs, makes a cup of coffee and sits down in the kitchen where an old, well thumbed hardback book is laying, looking vaguely out of place on the breakfast bar. 

Sam takes the lid off the box and begins to leaf through the contents, then he finds what he’s looking for, a large, and somewhat bulky A4 envelope marked in his mother’s distinctive scrawl. He knows what he will find, he thinks as he unseals it but isn’t prepared for the things that fall from the envelope into his hands. He isn’t prepared for the memories he hadn’t realised he’d forgotten to return, in full Technicolor, and he remembers. 

He was running through the wood, with no idea of where he was going, he only hoped it was far enough away from Bobby Zane and his gang who he could hear pushing through the bushes somewhere behind him. 

He came up against a wooden fence bordered by trees and looked round for where he could go next, trying to figure out where they might be and how to escape them and silently cursing his mother for taking them camping in the same place in the Napa Valley as Bobby Zane and his gang of bullies. It looked like they could now continue their favourite sport of ‘Sam Baiting’ all through summer. 

“Climb up” he looks around for the source of the voice, it’s female and is used to being obeyed. He can’t see anyone and from the sound of things Bobby and the gang are getting closer, he can hear them calling to each other now. 

“Look up in the tree stupid” comes the voice again. 

Obediently he looks up and in one of the trees overhanging the fence he can see a red headed girl peering out through the branches. 

“Climb on the fence and take my hand, there isn’t much time” she’s insistent and this point he has no place else to go, no other option, unless you count standing here and letting Bobby pound him to a pulp, which doesn’t sound too inviting 

He follows her instructions, climbing up the four bars of the wooden fence and reaching up to her offered hand. Their hands clasp and she pulls at him “you’re supposed to grab a branch doofus I can’t pull you up here by myself”. 

Obediently he grabs a branch and getting a hand hold climbs into the tree. He lies for a moment panting on the wooden platform balanced across the branches while she’s sitting looking at him. He opens his mouth and she raises a finger to her lips, she lies down next to him and pushes a few leaves aside, so they can see down into the clearing that he just left. 

At that moment five boys converge on it from different points. Sam realises if he’d tried to run as he’d planned he’d have gone straight into one of them, they’d had him surrounded. 

“Where’d he go?” demanded one 

“I don’t know I didn’t see him” comes the chorus from the others. 

“He can’t of gone far” points out Bobby, “let’s find him” and they fan out and disappear. 

Sam breathes a sigh of relief “Thanks” he says to his rescuer. Then it dawns on something, she’s obviously a girl, though she’s the only one he’s met that can climb trees but she’s dressed as a boy…and this the first time he’s seen a girl dress this way. 

“I’m Sam” he sticks out his hand the way he’s seen his father do when he meets new people. 

“I’m Spit” 

“Spit?” 

“Well Grandpa calls me ‘Spitfire’, my brother’s call me Spit” 

“What does your mother call you?” 

Her face closes “she’s dead” it comes out flatly and in a tone that dares him to say anything more. 

“What’s your real name?” 

“Claudia” she wrinkles her nose “Claudia Jean. But you can call me Spit’” she pronounces this as though bestowing a great honour, and he decides not to argue at this time. 

“Why were they chasing you?” 

“Because they can.” He looks devastated for a moment “they threw my book in the river”. His tone of voice and the look of loss on his face indicate that this is a crime of extreme magnitude and she looks suitably horrified. 

“They ruined your book?” 

“I guess so, it sank” 

“It sank? What were you reading?” 

“Dickens” he mutters, expecting her to look down her nose at him the way the kids at school do. He’s amazed when she grins at him and asks “Which one?” 

“David Copperfield” 

“I haven’t read that one yet, I’m still reading ‘Great Expectations’ Grandpa and I are discussing it tonight want to come?” 

He smiles at her, his face lighting up. “I’d love to, but I’ll have to ask my mom”. 

“No problem, I’ll come with you, but we’ll have to leave it a while before we can get down in case they come back”. 

“How old are you?” 

“I’m eleven” she says with an attempt at superiority. 

“I’m eight” he concedes the advantage.” So how come you’re up here?” 

“This is Grandpa’s vineyard” she waves her hand in the other direction of the inside of the tree “I come up here to think sometimes, and get away from my brothers” she wrinkles her nose in a way that indicates that brothers are something to get away from when ever you can. “My dad’s stayed in Ohio, Grandma and Grandpa have us at vacations so dad can get some peace”. She smiles and he gets the feeling that Dad could probably use that peace. 

“How many is us?” 

“Me and my three brothers, I’m the youngest and the only girl” again her tone of voice suggests that this is a great hardship. “Jack’s the only one here right now though; maybe I can get him to teach you how to fight over summer” 

Sam wonders just how big Jack is but secretly thinks this is a great idea, he’d ask his dad to teach him how to throw a punch but his dad’s always busy with work and he’s learned by now not to bother him when he comes home. He nods. 

“Come on, let’s get down” 

“But what about if they come back?” 

“Not ‘that’ side of the fence silly, Grandpa’s side. I’ll even let you use the ladder” 

“You have a ladder?” 

“Well it’s a rope with knots in but you get the idea”. 

Sam groans, and follows her as she swings down from the tree, they’re on the other side of the fence and the bank of trees and he finds himself looking at fields with rows and rows of vines leading away into the distance, it looks like a giant maze and he’s glad Spit is with him. 

By the time they reach the barns and farmhouse he knows she likes to talk, that it’s a bad idea to suggest that there’s anything boys can do that girls can’t, that her brothers are 18, 16 and 15 but Jack the 15 year old is the only one on the farm with her this time. 

She knows that Sam is an only child, that his dad is a Lawyer and works very hard, too hard to teach Sam to fight or to come on holiday. She knows he likes to read and has a memory for useless facts and that he can’t ride, she files this away for later when they have time to do something about this. 

“So what’s my little Spitfire found?” The man who walks across the yard has grey hair and a friendly smile that Sam instantly feels comfortable around. He may also be the tallest man Sam’s ever seen. 

“They threw his book in the river Gramps and it sank” Spit sounds suitably aghast. 

“It sank?” 

“It was Dickens” Sam explains, again almost waiting for the predictable ‘what’s a boy your age doing reading Dickens?’ question. “It was heavy”. 

“Dickens, hum? I can understand why that would sink, which one?” 

“David Copperfield” 

“They are bullying him Gramps and I want to know if Jack can teach him to throw a punch” 

“Look he’s had a busy day, Spitfire. Why don’t you take Sparky here in to see your Grandma and see if there’s any Lemonade left. I’ll be done in a minute and you and Sparky…” 

“Sam” 

“You and Sam can tell me all about it”. 

She looks at him and raises an eyebrow, a skill he decides he’s going to learn to master. “Want some Lemonade?” 

“Yes please”. 

He looks up at the tall and smiling man “Thank you sir”. 

“No need to call me Sir, Sparky” he reaches down and ruffles his hair and walks off across the yard. 

Sam turns and grins at Spit’ “I think I like your Grandpa”. 

She grins back “most people do”. 

He likes her Grandma too, the kitchen is warm and filled with sunlight and Spit’s Grandma seems to belong there. She has long grey hair and a bigger smile than her husband if that’s possible. She pours them glasses of lemonade from a tall pitcher filled with ice, sits down at the table with them and soon has the whole story from him, about his mum taking them on a camping holiday, about his Dad having to work, and about being in the same place as Bobby Zane and his gang of bullies, and the fate of his copy of ‘David Copperfield’. Surprisingly enough to Sam Spit’s family seem just as horrified about the sinking of Dickens as he is... 

Spit’s Grandma announces she’s going to take him back to his mother and see if she’d mind him spending some time with Spit over the next few days. She calls Spit ‘Claudia’ and Spit pulls a face behind her Grandmother’s back. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow” Spit tells him. 

He nods as he follows her Grandma out the door. 

He remembers walking back to the campsite and the conversation between Spit’s Grandma and his mother. Although he can’t remember exactly what was said, just odd fragments. He can remember his mother saying he could visit the Vineyard every day, and Spit’s Gran saying that maybe his mom could drop Sam off on a morning and have the day to herself. 

His mother had liked that idea. Sam remembers she’d liked it better after talking to the owner of the site who knew the Todd’s, that they’d farmed in the valley for years and were ‘good people’ but wasn’t it a shame about their daughter dying of that awful disease and those poor motherless children? 

Sam could imagine Spit’s reaction to being called a ‘poor motherless child’ and he didn’t think it would be a pretty sight. 

His mom had been happier still though after she’d dropped Sam off at the vineyard in the morning, and had coffee at the farmhouse with Spit’s Grandparents and he’d not waited to waive her goodbye, because Spit’s already taken his hand and dragged him off across the yard. They don’t head in the direction of the tree this morning, but to a couple of clear green fields fenced in. 

“You said you can’t ride Sparky” 

“No I can’t” 

“Want to learn?” 

He remembers how his face had lit up, “yes but Dad doesn’t have the time to teach me”. 

She’d stood on the fencing rails and he’d climbed up next to her and she whistles. 

He puts learning to whistle like that on his ‘to learn’ list, right next to figuring out how to raise one eyebrow. He’d tried that last night in the bathroom mirror and failed miserably, maybe he just needed more practice. 

Then the horses come running over the brow of the hill and he can’t believe how beautiful they look as they gallop towards them. As they get closer he can see that some are ponies really. Spit produces some sugar from her top pocket and shows him how to feed them. Whilst a bay is gently taking it from his hand she picks up two head collars, uses four of what she calls ‘leading ropes’ to make reins and puts them on two of the ponies and tells him to get on… 

He remembers using the fence to climb on the back of the bay who seemed quite unruffled about the whole thing, Spit got on a Grey and they started to walk… sitting on a horse when it’s bareback isn’t as easy as it looks but he discovered it’s nothing like trying to do it whilst it’s trotting – that took a few more goes and trips back to the fence before he could stay on…he couldn’t remember laughing this much before. 

And that was how the days went; he couldn’t remember laughing that much before. They camped out one night in Spit’s tree house and watched the stars through the leaves. Jack who was nearly as tall as his grandpa, and luckily for Sam was about as patient taught him to fight. He could ride bareback at a gallop now, much to Spit’s amusement… 

And on his last day Spit gave him a present. It had been wrapped in brown paper and read ‘To Sam/Sparky’ on the front. He’d unwrapped it in the kitchen to find a leather bound copy of ‘David Copperfield’. Spit had looked a bit sheepish “I asked Grandma to buy it with my pocket money at the bookstore, but she and Gramps wanted to get you it too, so we all chipped in. I’m sorry it’s not new but we thought you’d like an old one better”. 

He ran his hands over the leather and flicked reverently through the pages. “It’s perfect” was all he’d said and she’d smiled. One day he was going to tell Spit she was beautiful when she smiled, and then he was going to step back quick before she hit him. 

But the best part had been when she’d gone with him to take the book back to his mom before they went out riding, and they’d bumped into Bobby and his gang. 

Bobby had looked at them and gone “well, well what do we have here?” and swing at Sam. Sam hit him back but Bobby’s next attempt landed him on the floor and he wasn’t going to loose another copy of Dickens…especially not this one. 

But before he could get up Spit had marched forward. “Think you’re so tough picking on someone half your size and twice your I.Q? Try someone who is your size for a change” and she’d swung at him. 

Sam saw the punch connect, something Jack had taught him called a ‘Haymaker’ but it was hard to do with a book under one arm, and Jack had told him you had to put everything behind it. Spit had obviously taken his advice because Bobby went down like a sack of potatoes. 

Bobby’s gang looked around at each other, Bobby just got floored? And by a girl? Sam was hitting back now? They looked at their fallen leader and decided discretion was the better part of valour and ran away. 

Sam and Spit looked down on a groaning Bobby “What hit me?” 

“I did” Spit said helpfully “and once you get over the fact you’ve just been beaten by a girl you should remember that Sam can hit harder than I can”. 

Bobby looked a little dazed, “he can?” 

Spit had grinned at Sam over the groaning bully “of course he can. He’d been taking lessons” she winked at Sam “and you’ve got to remember he can hit harder than I can because after all, I’m only a girl”. 

She and Sam were still laughing when they walked away. 

Sam turned over one of the pictures of the tall angular girl and the smaller and smiling boy, and smiled as he read the description on the back in three different sets of handwriting “Spit and Polish summer 1974” that was her Grandfather, “Sam and Claudia in the tree house” her Grandmother, “Sam and Claudia Napa ‘74” in his mother’s precise handwriting. 

And inside the flyleaf of a leather bound copy of David Copperfield ‘and shall continue friends apart’ Spit(fire) Napa ’74. 

And across the years he remembers the sound of laughter. 

On Monday morning he will leave a photograph in a brown envelope on her desk of two children smiling down from a tree house and a handwritten note asking ‘do you remember’ and he wants to watch her face when she opens it. 


End file.
